No longer from thy window look- The tear shall never leave my cheek, J. Logan CLXIV WILLY DROWNED IN YARROI Down in yon garden sweet and gay I heard a fair maid sighing say, 'Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, 'O gentle wind, that bloweth south, 'O tell sweet Willie to come doun "The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast 'O Leader haughs are wide and braid 'But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, 'Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, 'O came ye by yon water-side? Or came you by yon meadow green, She sought him up, she sought him down, She sought him braid and narrow; Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, She found him drown'd in Yarrow ! Anon. CLXV LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE Toll for the Brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore! Eight hundred of the brave A land-breeze shook the shrouds Down went the Royal George, Toll for the brave! It was not in the battle; His sword was in its sheath, -Weigh the vessel up The tears that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main : But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. CLXVI IV. Cowper BLACK-EYED SUSAN All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, William, who high upon the yard Rock'd with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, So the sweet lark, high poised in air, My vows shall ever true remain ; Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 'If to fair India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view 'Though battle call me from thy arms Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, The boatswain gave the dreadful word, They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; 'Adieu!' she cries; and waved her lily hand. J. Gay CLXVII SALLY IN OUR ALLEY Of all the girls that are so smart Her father he makes cabbage-nets To such as please to buy 'em: But sure such folks could ne'er beget When she is by, I leave my work, Of all the days that's in the week And that's the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday; For then I'm drest all in my best To walk abroad with Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. |